


We can be heroes. just for one day

by GrantaireandHisBottle



Category: Les Misérables (2012)
Genre: Bonfire, Fluff, Holidays, Les Mis AU, Multi, Picnics, guitar playing, kissing in the moonlight, more desperate kisses, singing silly songs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-09
Updated: 2013-05-17
Packaged: 2017-12-10 21:48:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,372
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/790531
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GrantaireandHisBottle/pseuds/GrantaireandHisBottle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Marius Pontmercy invite Les Amis to spend the weekend in his Grandfather's country house and enjoy the warm Sun on their lips and a light wind on their faces.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. We can be heroes just for one day

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Ibbyliv](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ibbyliv/gifts).



> I am so sorry for this silly story^^;
> 
> The name of the story is the song of the Samples.

Marius enters the café Musain with an excellent mood. But as he closes the door and turns his head, taking off his sun glasses he nearly receives a heart attack because of Gavroche. The teen appears from nowhere with a gun in his hand and a serious face.

"Wha-where did you get that?" Marius's face is pale, even his freckles become paler than usual.

Gavroche watches him for some long moments and then bursts in giggles. "Jesus, Marius, your face is priceless!"

The Law student rolls his eyes and together with the blond walks to the table. "Anyway, what is that?"

Gavroche collapses on the chair and put a gun on a café's table. "It's uncharged, don't worry." As his answer doesn't satisfy Marius he adds. "I took it from my Dad. God knows what that bloody man can do."

The last sentence sounds so bitter and it is strange to hear such words from a rather young person. But a moment later Gavroche grins again and pats Marius. "Relax, mate. By the way, why have you arranged the meeting? Something's happened? Cosette has become even more wonderful? Or Enjolras is drunk? Or is it about Joly? He ate something without washing it?"

"Haha, you're the top of the class." Marius sighs as Gavroche proudly bows. "I am going to invite all of you to my country house for this weekend."

The teenager, who has been in a process of poking his finger into Marius's cheek freezes. "Oooh." The devilish smile appears on his lips. "That, my friend, is an amazing idea!"

"What idea?" they hear the voice of Courfeyrac and Jehan, who have just entered the café. "Hello, everyone."

Jehan's hair is tied into an elegant ponytail; a wide white t-shirt with "We are young" written on it and tight dark blue jeans looks lovely on the Poet's slim figure. Courfeyrac hugs him and puts his head on Jehan's shoulder. "So? Tell us."

"I've been saying that_"

The door opens again and Gavroche, Marius, Courfeyrac and Jehan watch the dark-haired young man, who on a speed of light runs inside with yells "Hide me!" and jumps under the table, where Marius and Gavroche are sitting. Second later another man runs inside, breathing heavily. His usually golden curls now are painted in green.

Enjolras's eyes sparkle dangerously. "Grantaire." He says calmly, but his voice makes everybody shiver. "Say goodbye to your friends."

Black, curly bush of hair slowly appears between Marius and Gavroche. Then two blue eyes carefully look at Enjolras. "Mercy?"

"What did you say?"

"Mercy?"

Four other people turn their heads to Enjolras as he speaks and then back to Grantaire as he answers.

"One more time."

"Mercy on my soul or rather on my ass, which will regret after your negotiation between my brushes and paints and palettes and my_. Please, Enjolras, you are a good person, with a big, loving heart_." Grantaire, Gavroche and Marius duck down as the leader through his bag in Grantaire's head.

Courfeyrac really tries not to laugh that vividly and remain serious, but he gives up.

"May I speak?" Jehan asks, hiding the laughing face of his friend in his shoulder. Enjolras's gaze slowly travels to him. "With all respect, the green color actually matches you…"

"I'll stir up Joly against you, telling him that you have smallpox and parturient infection at the same time, Jehan."

"Who has parturient infection?" the enthusiastic voice of the Medical student reaches their ears.

Enjolras silently points on Jehan, still looking at the place, where Grantaire is hiding, burning him with his eyes. Joly stares at Jehan then at Courfeyrac. "Hey, it's not my fault!" protests Courfeyrac as Joly shakes his head thoughtfully.

"That paint can be easily removed by washing your hair, so don't worry." Grantaire's attempt to justify himself fails.

"I will remove you right now."

Marius sighs, pressing his index finger and thumb to the bridge nose. "You know, I'd ask you two, what the hell has happened, but I've decided that I don't want to know. Can you all calm down and listen to me for a second?"

Enjolras sits on the nearest chair, looking like a Gorgon; Joly, still watching Courfeyrac suspiciously sits near the leader, but then carefully shift the chair away from him. Gavroche puts his legs on the chair next to him and rest his head on Marius's laps, winking at Grantaire, who's been sitting on the floor between them. R silently plays his own execution, by hanging.

"So I want to tell that you all are invited to spend this weekend in my grandfather's country house. I-if you want, of course." His cheeks suddenly become pink.

"Oh, no. There, on the open-air, in a dark forest, Enjolras will definitely kill me…" sighs Grantaire as Enjolras narrows his eyes.

Courfeyrac's eyes open widely. "With barbecue and cola?"

"And dancing in the moonlight!" Jehan adds, smiling dreamily, caressing Courfeyrac's neck.

Marius nods. "Of course. The weather is good and my Grandfather won't be there, so we have plenty of free space."

"Woohoo!" Gavroche waves his hand as he takes a sitting position again. "Enjolras, promise me not to kill Grantaire." The leader raises his brow. "You see, he has borrowed money, so he must pay me. If you kill him, you will pay. Deal?" he seriously crosses hands on his chest. "Besides I have a gun. Just to let you know."

Everyone sighs and chuckles. "Deal." Enjolras eventually answers.

Grantaire happily stands up and kisses Gavroche's temple. "Remind me, Gavroche, when did I borrow money from you?"

The teen looks up. "For saving your life." He nods on Enjolras. "Everything has its own price, mon ami."

"Little bastard." Grantaire laughs, tickling him.

"So tomorrow at 7 a.m. I will meet all of you on the railway station, okay?" Marius says, typing something down in his phone.

"How about food?" Enjolras asks.

"Nono, you are my guests, so don't worry about that." Marius replies quickly.

"Oh my, imagine monsieur Marius cooking for us and serving us drinks!" Courfeyrac giggles, playing with Jehan's hair.

"And what about Combeferre and Feully? Cosette and others? Will they come?" Joly asks, cheeking his pulse on his neck.

"Joly, of course Cosette will come. He asked her first." Grantaire carefully walks to Enjolras. The second one watches him without blinking. "Marius will ask her to marry him, believe me." He grins, turning to Marius. "Am I right?"

Les Amis smiles and laughs as they watch Marius's blushing face. "No, not yet, I_don't want to rush the events."

Jehan sighs, still hugging Courfeyrac. "Okay, then tomorrow at 7." Everyone nods and starts walking out, chatting with each other, Gavroche singing something cheerful.

"Enjolras, I am sorry, that was a joke." Grantaire with a troubled face walks near his friend.

"You said you want to make a portrait, I trusted you." Enjolras answers coldly, approaching the front door.

The cynic grabs his hand and tugs him closer. "Please, don't look at me like that. Your eyes are broking my heart."

Enjolras deliberately glances at him so nonchalant, that R feels his heart falling down. But then, using Grantaire's confusion, he leans and kisses the Artist so passionately, that Grantaire hasn't realized what has happened at first. Then with happy noises he answers the kiss, hugging Enjolras tightly. The young leader smiles, letting Grantaire to taste that smile. The thin fingers of R run up and down Enjolras neck as he slightly bites his lower lip.

"Am I forgiven?" he whispers, millimeters away from the other lips.

"Nope."


	2. You are sad when you think I can't see

Enjolras briskly enters the living-room, where the Art student is sleeping, curled on the sofa. He is lying on his belly, hugging a big pillow, the blanket falls on the floor near a big scratch-book and three pencils. On the open page there is a picture of Grantaire, standing near Enjolras. He didn’t make his own figure very detailed, but Enjolras’s was neatly done. 

 

He sighs as notices the green color of his hair, then his eyes glance at the cynic’s face. Enjolras sits on the edge of the sofa. “Wake up, sleeping beauty.” He shakes R’s shoulder.

 

Grantaire only mumbles something and hides his head in the pillow. “Come on, we are going to be late.” Enjolras (with his clean golden curls) shakes the sleeping man’s forearm again; then leans forward, close to R’s ear. “TO THE BARICADES!!!!”

 

The Artist silently grabs his pillow and puts on his head. Enjolras rolls his eyes. His fingertips touches Grantaire’s bare skin on his wrist. Then ember eyes smiles as they catch the reaction of the student: muscles on his hand tensed. Fingertips, almost not touching, very slightly caressing the skin, travel up, leaving goosebumps. Patiently Enjolras continues his actions, knowing that R won’t resist at the end. 

 

His hand reaches a blue sleeve of the t-shirt when_ “Aaah, you are a perfidious seducer!!!” Grantaire jerks up suddenly and his pillow collides with Enjolras’s smiling face. “I want to sleep, for pity’s sake. It’s 6 a.m.” he falls on the sofa again, scratching his left arm.

 

The leader of Les Amis frowns, placing the poor pillow on his laps. “We have train at 7.25 a.m.”

 

Grantaire, rubbing his eyes hems. “Plenty of time.” 

 

Enjolras nods sarcastically and stands up, but his right palm has been caught by R’s. “Can I sleep with you this night?” he uncertainly watches his friend. “I won’t joke with you never again. I promise.” Grantaire sounds really desperate, with his sleepy face and tangled curls. “I had bad dreams without you and I had to hug pillow, thinking that that was you.”

 

The leader sighs, knowing that Grantaire is just pretending and playing, but he acts very realistic. “Maybe.”

 

The grin appears on the face of the cynic. “I knew you love me!” 

 

Enjolras turns, hiding his smile and walks to the kitchen. “I can change my mind easily, Grantaire.”

 

The student grimaces and finally stands up from the sofa with a rather heavy head, because of the lack of sleep. He drags himself to the bathroom, glancing over his shoulder to see what Enjolras is doing in the kitchen and why that something smells so good. His bare feet feel the cool smooth surface of the glazed tile. 

 

Grantaire stops in front of the mirror; his deep, dark blue eyes look at him from the mirror. The face with hollow cheeks and dark skin under those eyes. R closes them, having no strength to watch his own reflection. It reminds him times, when not only alcohol was his best friend. On his pale skin of the right arm, scars are still visible. The cynic sits on the edge of the bath and takes a deep breath. 

 

_Enjolras deserves much better than me._

 

He is what he was before. The poison of his own bitter thought is still making him sick. Enjolras is helping. More then anyone and anything in this world. But very often, Grantaire desperately bites his upper lip, swallowing heavily, trying to calm himself down, I think that Enjolras is with me just because of pity. He gasps, suddenly realizing how cold the bath, on which he is sitting, is.

 

“Tea or coffee?” the sound of Enjolras’s voice reaches Grantaire’s ears. He smiles sadly, realizing that without his Apollo, he still would not survive. “Coffee, sweetheart.” He wants to believe; but he is so afraid of believing that Enjolras is with him just because he loves Grantaire. It’s because he never believes in miracles. That’s why he acts so silly sometimes. To hide his pure disgust to himself, And his deepest fear.

 

_The Phantom of the Opera loudly rings in Enjolras’s jeans pocket as he is slicing the cheese for their sandwiches._

_“And do I dream again? For now I find Phantom of the opera is there inside my mind”_

 

“Wait a second, I am coming.” He mutters in a hurry, reaching for the towel.

 

“Sing once again with me, our strange duet My power over you grows stronger yet”

 

At last, when his hands are dry and clean he reaches for the phone and picks up the call from Combeferre. “Yes?”

 

“Good morning. I am just calling you, to cheek that you’ve woken up.” Enjolras rolls his eyes, pressing his phone with his shoulder, while making the second sandwich. 

 

“Of course I’ve woken up, I have to look after Grantaire.” He reaches for mayonnaise. 

 

On the other side Ferry laughs gently.“Don’t pretend that you don’t like that.” 

 

Enjolras chuckles, licking his fingers. 

 

“But Mama I am in love with a criminal…”

 

Combeferre sighs. “Could it be that Grantaire is singing Britney Spears?”

 

The leader or Apollo to his cynical best friend and lover walks to the fridge, searching for tomatoes. “Yes. He has a very extensive knowledge in music. Yesterday, for example, he was singing the Ride of the Valkyries.”

 

“It’s a melody, how was he singing it?”

 

“No ideas. What a second, please.” Enjolras takes away the phone from his ear and calls loudly. “Britney, hurry up, we are late!!”

 

The singing stops so suddenly that Enjolras (and Combeferre more likely too) frowns. Suspiciously Enjolras pops his head from the kitchen’s doorway. 

 

“We'll stay, forever this way, you are safe in my heart, and my heart will go on and on!”

 

A whistle. “Admit that his voice sounds great, when he actually sings instead of making parodies.” 

 

Enjolras is smiling. He likes to realize that Grantaire is slowly changing. Of course his sarcasm and pessimism never leaves him completely, but he can see the difference. Between that angry, annoyed, tired, lost, cold, deep, blue eyes and more warm and smiling gaze that Grantaire has now. He smokes, but does a little less than before. He drinks, but not that much. 

 

“Stop thinking of how amazing you Granta_” the sudden noises, which sound very like kisses make Combeferre stops talking. He clears his throat. “Guys?” no response and more sounds. “Ehm, okay. Well, you still are in a hurry, remember. A train? No? I_. Okay, see you at the railway station. Bye.” 

 

 

Courfeyrac smiles gently as he watches Jehan making photos of people on the railway station. The Poet’s green eyes shine with strange, but very warm shine as he catches someone’s face expression. Young girl, laughing as her older brother sneezes loudly. Old man slowly reads a newspaper sighing from time to time as he turns the pages. A young man is searching for someone, but his face lights up as he notices Jehan’s making a picture of him. A woman wipes a single tear, while talking on her phone. Her eye look unnaturally stoned. Like if she has forgotten how to love. 

 

Courfeyrac steps closer and takes away hair from Jehan’s determined face. The second man closes his eyes, enjoying Courf’s fingers on his cheek. “You look lovely.” His nose touches Jehan’s cheek.

 

Jehan opens his eyes. This time he wears ochre trousers, blue t-shirt under his checked shirt. Rather big sunglasses looks good on his nose. Courfeyrac watches his strange, charming Dreamer. 

 

“Do you know with what speed falls the flower of a cherry tree?’ he asks that so seriously, like if he is giving a lecture about an antimatter in Harvard University. The most amazing peculiarity of Jehan’s character is that he cares about clouds, flowers, poetry and starry sky as much as he cares about political situation in France or helping Enjolras in his protests. But he doesn’t sound very sappy or sentimental. His eyes are clever. And kind. Very often he reminds Courfeyrac an Elf. Not those little Santa helpers, but majestic creatures from Tolkien’s mythology. They were wise, but sung happily like kids, knew everything since the beginning of the World, but that knowledge didn’t make them look old, only eyes shone with secret light. So do Jehan’s.

 

“I love you.” When Courfeyrac says that, everytime Jehan feels that they are infinitive. 

 

Suddenly, both of them hear someone’s annoyed or rather angry snort. “Faggots.” The man near them says. He looks like a successful businessman, with a tie and iPad in his hands.

 

“Nice to meet you.” Courfeyrac replies, his hand is resting on Jehan’s waist.

 

“Such scum like you, should not visit the same places as normal people.” His grey eyes narrow. “You are the worst illness of the modern society.”

 

“Of course we are. What is terrorism, the infringement of Human rights and Freedom, famine and wars are in a compare with my sexuality.” The Poet’s voice sounds so calm as he speaks. The words of the stranger didn’t make any effect on him.

 

The businessman stares as a blond teen runs to the couple happily, a huge backpack on his back. “Hey, guys!” the kid stops near them, but then his smile fades a bit. “You are okay?”

 

Courfeyrac smiles. “Sure, we have been chatting with this lovely man.’ He nods to the stranger. “He says lots of interesting facts about homosexuality, you know.”

 

Gavroche turns and his big, blue eyes scan the man. As he finishes, he silently shows a middle finger of his right hand. 

 

The black-haired man stands up, the devise in his hands. He looks up and down and then at last glances at Gavroche’s face. The despise in that gaze is colossal. He walks away, like if he has witness a dissection of a corpse of the paedophile.

 

Gavroche jumps on Courfeyrac’s bag, which is staying near the coffee automat and makes himself comfortable. 

 

“There are chocolates in that bag. Were, by now.” Jehan says, placing his sunglasses on his crown. 

 

The teen glances on the bag. “Ooops.” He reaches for the chewing gum. “Where is everyone else?”

 

“I’ve called Ferry and he said Enjolras and Grantaire would be probably late and_” Gavroche interrupts him, by pointing forward. 

 

“No, they won’t.”

 

Enjolras walks in a grey jeans and red t-shirt. It is almost an obsession with red color as for Gavroche, but it doesn’t bother anyone. He is caring Grantaire’s backpack and a guitar in the cover. There is a light, summer scarf, neatly hanging around his neck. Jehan smiles as he remembers that particular brown scarf is, in fact, Grantaire’s. 

 

The cynic is walking near, tugging a big luggage. “You know, Enjolras, it would be very kind of you if you haven’t packed your entire wardrobe… It’s only two days.” he breathes heavily as they reach Courfeyrac, Gavroche and Jehan. The last one’s lips curls in a small mischief smile as he notices red mark on Grantaire’s pale skin of his neck. R opens his mouth to ask, but realizes the reason and laughs. 

 

Enjolras carefully places the guitar, leaning on the automat and cheeks the time. “Well done, Grantaire, we are not even late. Surprisingly.” The Art student proudly stands near Courfeyrac, still breathing heavily. “And in the bag, there are not only mine clothes, but yours as well, our laptops and your scratch books.” 

 

“Well done us. Jesus, I want coffee.” He searches for some coins. 

 

“You’ve just had one. Stop it or you become a coffee addict.” Enjolras warns.

 

R shrugs only in reply and pushes a button “Latte”. 

 

“Since when you drinking that milky, sweety latte?” Gavroche asks, playing with Courfeyrac’s hand: there is a battle of fingers, to be more correct. 

 

“I don’t.” he replies. Then carefully takes a plastic cup and turns to the leader. “Enjolras does. And he didn’t have time for drinking it at home.” 

 

Jehan’s eyes slip to Grantaire’s mark on the neck again, but he just smiles. 

 

Suddenly they all hear Joly’s sad “hello” as he approaches them. He looks so pitiful that even Gavroche stops playing and stares at him.

 

“You are okay?” Enjolras asks, licking his lips after he has made a sip. (Grantaire saw that and felt butterflies in his stomach.) 

 

“Combeferre doesn’t talk to me anymore.” He looks like he is going to cry right now. “We even had different buses to reach the station.” 

 

Courfeyrac rolls his eyes. “Let me guess. You were about to take the whole chemist shop with you and he was against.” Joly nods, sighing sadly. 

 

“I was only caring about him.” 

 

Grantaire makes two steps and pats the medical student’s shoulder, his eyes shine softly.

 

“We’ll think of something, don’t worry.”

 

Combeferre appears ten minutes later together with Cosette and Marius, who have been caring so many bags and packages, that R glances at Enjolras with a don’t-you-dare-to-say-I-have-to-many-luggage look. 

 

“Sorry everybody, we’ve been in an enormous jam.” Cosette takes a deep breath. Marius puts on the floor all the stuff he’s been carrying and looks at the railway’s clock. 

 

“Jesus, only ten minutes and we’d be late…”

 

Ferry glances at Joly through his glasses. The second one looks so miserable that eventually it melts the heart of Combeferre. He smiles at Joly and everyone else laughs when Joly’s face enlightens brightly.

 

After all with a great number of bags, backpacks, the guitar and food Les Amis have managed to sit on the right train(the first one which they entered because of Gavroche, who sworn it was their train, was actually heading to Berlin) and they tiredly collapse on their seats, closing the door to the compartment. 

 

“Marius. Why 7 a.m? Are there no trains later?” Grantaire asks, searching for the bottle of cola in his backpack.

 

The Law students frown. “If we wait for the later ones it will be very hot outside and that will be worse.”

 

Most of them roll their eyes, with “whatever” faces expression. 

 

Half an hour later Marius is sitting near the window, reading the article in his phone, holding Cosette’s hand. Cosette is listening the music with her gaze far away. Jehan is writing something in his notebook, smiling from time to time. Courfeyrac tries to read it, but the Poet glances at him with a serious face. “I haven’t finished it!”

 

Enjolras has fallen asleep, leaning against the window. Grantaire notices that, puts his scratch book away and carefully shifts Enjolras. He puts the leader’s head on his shoulder. Then goes back to his drawings. 

 

Combeferre watches the cynic. He looks sad, when he thinks Enjolras can’t see him. Ferry tries to understand why, but fails constantly. They look so happy together. But still Grantaire’s eyes are sad so often.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> At the next chapter there will be dancing, cooking, singing and Enjolras will find out why R is saad. Hope he will help him. Also Jehan/Courfeyrca fluff! I just love them all)) Thank for reaading and sorry my English


	3. Once on a yellow piece of paper

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All my thanks to the amazing Chainofprospit who checked my mistakes))

The train runs away from Paris, leaving behind all the responsibilities they have and things that need to be done; runs away from the prejudices, away from dust of the streets and troubles of the university, to meet the peaceful company of Nature. To see beautiful sunsets, to hug each other in the gentle light of the Sun’s brother – Moon. To kiss lovers’ lips, drunk on of the smell of flowers, clouds, hearts, dreams. 

Outside the window the landscape is changing so quickly that it forms one, big, colorful line of paints, like Grantaire’s palette when he is in a good mood.

Courfeyrac blinks several times, the sleep slipping away from his eyes and mind. He looks to his right to watch Jehan, who has been writing his poem. Courfeyrac silently reads a few lines, a flood of mixed feelings erupting in his chest.

“Once on a yellow piece of paper with green lines  
he wrote a poem And he called it "Autumn" because that was the name of the season And that's what it was all about And his teacher gave him an A and asked him to write more clearly”

“Jehan,” he whispers.

The ginger haired student turns his head slightly, eyes never leaving his notebook. He is left-handed as well as Grantaire. 

“Why is your new masterpiece so bitter?” he asks, watching beautiful emerald eyes from upside down.

Jehan looks at the window. “It is not bitter. It’s about life, and it can’t be always sweet and good. It’s like jazz music. One second you are ready to dance, your head full of pictures, lips can fill the aftertaste of the kisses under the rain, but then the inconsistent medley changes and in your heart echoes the dull pain of memories, because those kisses are gone, the warmth of hands is forgotten.” His thoughtful gaze travels back to Courfeyrac’s face. 

The latter takes Jehan’s hand in his own, their fingers tangled. They sit silently, sharing light touches of their fingertips. Everyone else in the compartment has fallen asleep. “He is cute, isn’t he?” whispers the poet. “But fights with so many demons on his own.”

Courfeyrac trails his lover’s gaze and looks at sleeping Grantaire. He is holding a pencil in his left hand, a picture of Gavroche is half-drawn: a spark in the teen’s eyes looks very realistic. R’s head is resting on Enjolras’s, who is lying on the cynic’s shoulder. 

“His habit of dealing with problems alone is still strong. The heat of Enjolras’s body can’t melt it. Yet,” he says gently.

As he speaks Courfeyrac squeezes Jehan’s palm a bit tighter. “Do you feel my warmth? Can I make you feel more comfortable?”

Green, like leaves through which the sun shines, eyes of Jehan peer into Courfeyrac’s. “Yes,” he breathes in reply. “My soul was wandering far away, lost in the heights of the stars. You’ve brought me back to Earth.” His fingers touch Courfeyrac’s palm, drawing the endless ornament on it by his touch. “You remind me that stars are cold, but down here is warm. Right here.” Jehan touches Courfeyrac’s chest, where his heart is. 

Courfeyrac gasps, because of such speeches where Jehan’s mind works together with his heart. They don’t seem strange to him; they are breathtaking. When his life is a dream and dream is his life. He leans just a little bit and carefully touches Courfeyrac’s lips with his own, they are trembling.

“Jeh–”

“I am fine.” He replies so quietly that a moment later Courfeyrac doubts that he really said anything. 

Those lips are trembling; they are warm; they are whispering, but he can’t understand the words. That doesn’t matter. The tongue touches the lower lip, making both shiver. Hearts are beating so loudly, yet rhythmic, hearing each other through the layers of cloth, through the cage of the ribs. 

Joly wakes up as the train stops at the small station. He yawns and rubs his eyes, then carefully stands up and makes several steps, avoiding tangled legs of Jehan and Courfeyrac as well as Cosette’s bag, which lies on the floor near her. When he reaches the door and opens it he notices Grantaire. The spring wind plays with the dark curls of the cynic, who has opened the window. He is smoking, inhaling the smoke slowly. In his eyes there is stiffness and lifelessness. Maybe from wine or coffee, or from the lack of sleep. Joly can’t guess. 

“Grantaire?” He comes to the skinny figure.

R turns and smiles. “Morning, Joly. How do you feel yourself? As for me, it would be better to not sleep at all rather than to rest two or fewer hours. My head is so heavy when I wake up...” 

The medical student nods. “But resting is also important.” He glances at Grantaire’s face. “I am sorry, but you look like…” He pauses, thinking how to end the sentence.

“Like shit,” Grantaire simply replies as he takes the last drag of his cigarette before throwing it away out the open window. “I know.”

“You don’t always look that bad.” Joly leans near the window, his gaze catching the features of the art student. “Actually, it seems like there are two versions of you.”

Grantaire smirks. “I am just tired. Nothing special. Stop worrying about everything. It looks like paranoia.” It sounds more like he is convincing himself than Joly. As silence falls between them, Grantaire continues. “We’re almost there. Only thirty five minutes left. Let’s go and wake everyone up.” 

Joly, following R back to the compartment, thinks that maybe, after all, Grantaire is really just tired. But a small part of himself doubts. People can’t change that fast. There are some scars, which always hurt.

Nine people are standing near the small building of the railway station, looking around. Marius’s eyes catch the sign of two cars on the parking. “That’s it. I’ve hired cars for us, come on.”

The cars look old-fashioned, like the whole atmosphere of the town, and Cosette’s dress strangely fits it together, with her hat, red shoes and glasses. One car is light blue, the other one is green. Marius doubtfully looks at the two little Renualts and then back at their luggage. Combeferre has been thinking the same thing, but they just shrug and open boots. 

First they put in the backpacks of Courfeyrac and Gavroche, then Cosette’s and Marius’s suitcases, and after that Grantaire’s guitar, while he complains loudly (“Careful, for Christ’s sake, it’s Yamaha!!”). As Ferry closes the boot, Enjolras suddenly notices that they haven’t placed Grantaire’s and his own suitcase, because R has distracted him with his guitar. Combeferre rolls his eyes, unlocking the boot once again. Together with Grantaire, Enjolras manages to find a place for it.

“Okay, so it is only half an hour–” Gavroche loudly sighs as he hears the news. “And we will be there, I promise.”

 

So in the green car ride Gavroche, Courfeyrac, Jehan, Enjolras and Grantaire (Enjolras is driving because Jehan is looking at the sky, caring little about everything else, and Courfeyrac is laughing hard with Grantaire, watching a video on Gavroche’s phone). In the second car, Marius is driving while Combeferre sits near Cosette, listening to Joly, who is telling them about the strange guy in the hospital where he is having his internship. Cosette laughs as Joly continues talking with a very serious face and Ferry just sits, watching the student with a small smile on his lips.

At last after an hour and a half, because they have turned the wrong way several times, and after the endless amount questions of Gavroche (“Have we gotten there? How about now? We are there, right? No? What the hell!? Enjolras you are lagging like a schoolboy who has taken his Dad’s car for the first time!”), they have reached Marius’s grandfather’s house.

It is a villa more likely. A big, ancient, wooden mansion with a large garden, which looks rather neglected, but it works for it. It gives it a strange feeling of a mystery. 

Les Amis walk inside, looking around curiously. “Wait a second.” Grantaire stops suddenly, making Enjolras stumble over their bag. “Is that a muscadine grapes plantation?” he points at the field behind the house. 

“Well, yes, actually, my grandfather likes wine very much. This is his hobby,” Marius explains as a man comes towards them. 

“Good morning, messieurs, mademoiselle.” He nods at them. “Sir Marius, your rooms are ready, would you like breakfast?”

Everyone, including Marius, feels themselves embarrassed as the servant in a uniform speaks. “No no, thank you. You know, August, you have the day off today, please.”

The servant bows. “Thank you, sir.” And quickly walks away.

Combeferre looks at Marius’s blushing cheeks. “I–I never like the fact that my grandfather is rich. It embarrasses me a lot.” 

Grantaire chuckles, still looking at the plantation. “At least he has a never ending supply of wine.”

They grab all of the packages and bags and enter the house. For everyone there are rooms with big windows from which the garden can be seen. As Enjolras and R walk to theirs, the artist says, “I’d never live in such a place.” Enjolras smiles, he thinks about that too. “It is just too big and empty. So many rooms that almost all of them are useless. Just like some people without souls.” He reaches for the door handle and pushes it. 

The room is also big with one bed. Grantaire enters it and collapses on the bed while Enjolras walks to the windows and draws apart the heavy curtains. The view outside is stunning. “Come here, R.”

“Mhh?” Grantaire jumps from the bed and comes to him. “Oh.” 

Just under their window, hidden by the old trees, is a small pergola with two chairs, warm blankets are lying on them. Grantaire thinks of Enjolras sitting there, moonlight on his face, the reflection of the night in his beautiful eyes. He glances at Enjolras, who’s been looking at the view with a shining face. The artist smiles, putting his arms around the leader’s waist, breathing in his neck. Enjolras closes his eyes, enjoying a moment. 

“Hey folks here's the story 'bout Minnie the Moocher She was a red-hot hoochie coocher She was the roughest toughest rail But Minnie had a heart as big as a whale” 

The sound of Gavroche, singing downstairs reaches their ears, making both students smile. “Come on, people, I am hungry!!” he cries out.

Grantaire just stands there, in the big room with dark red curtains, hugging Enjolras. 

“Grantaire?”

“Mhm?” 

“I love you.”

The cynic’s heart clenches. “Why did you say that?”

Enjolras shrugs, leaning against R’s body. “Because I do love you. And I can’t understand why you are always so stunned when I say it.” He looks up into his bottomless eyes. “Sometimes I think you don’t believe me.”

Grantaire kisses his cheek. “I am stunned, because you are Enjolras. The believer. And I am Grantaire.” His voice sounds bitter. “A drunkard. A cynic.”

Enjolras remains silent, thinking of the fact that R used “the” when he spoke about him and “a” when about himself. “I thought I was helping you. But now I see that you have been only pretending. You are still very unhappy.”

The dark hair on the cynic’s face hides his eyes as he replies. “Sometimes happiness it isn’t a huge grin or constant good mood. It is a realization that you are needed.” He hugs Enjolras tighter. “I am happy. The happiest person in the entire universe.”

The door opens and Gavroche appears in the doorway. “People, come’n, why are all of you kissing, hugging and other disgusting stuff!? Let’s have a barbecue; it’s not even evening!” He looks at the couple near the window. “I am seriously afraid of the darkness and what I am going to hear from all the rooms…” He sighs. “Please, I am hungry.”

Grantaire chuckles. “You can join us if you want.” The teen’s gaze could literally burn a hole on R’s face. Enjolras, laughing gently, drags Grantaire to the corridor, his other arm around Gavroche’s shoulder. 

“Hey, lovebirds!! It’s barbecue time!! Come on everybody!!” Gavroche and Grantaire cry loudly as they walk downstairs. 

The artist feels that his heart isn’t as heavy as was before. They will be fine. After all, they are Enjolras and Grantaire.


	4. Nothing else matters

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is the last chapter) I've had enjoyed writing this. Beside's I've met an amazing _Chainofprospit_ , who is helping me very much, by checking my spelling and grammer. Thank you all for reading))

Gavroche, Enjolras, and Grantaire walk downstairs, cross a long corridor, and enter a place that could be a kitchen. Grantaire sighs as he looks around the area. It reminds him of a royal dining room.

Marius's figure appears in a door way and says quickly, "Come on out of here. To be honest, this part of the building hasn't been used very often." They walk outside and the sun tickles their noses and cheeks. "It is the left wing which is normal and can be used."

Gavroche chuckles. "You mean not that pompous and classy? Could it be a place very servants live?" 

Marius sighs and nods, making the other men smile. 

"That sounds better."

"Agreed; I won't be afraid that I’ll accidentally spill my coffee on some Mona Lisa hanging in the corridor, or wipe my feet–"

"I get it, Grantaire, thanks." Marius, with pink cheeks, opens another large door, letting his friends inside.

Enjolras glances and decides that this part of the mansion is much better. There are many books on the bookshelves, pastel shades all around the place, paintings on the walls, and bottles of wine, standing all together, complementing the atmosphere of the room. His gaze slips to Grantaire's face. His eyes are warm, reflecting the spirit of the place.

"Well, Marius. We can use these bottles, can't we?" R asks, with a hope in his voice.

Half an hour later all Les Amis have finally joined together with all the provisions. Combeferre and Marius walk to the garden in order to prepare the place for the brazier. Courfeyrac has taken the responsibility of marinating the meat, while Grantaire volunteers to make cocktails and drinks for everyone. That looks very promising as he starts his own barman show: the flying bottles of Jack Daniels, four different kinds of liqueurs, and martini. Gavroche stands near the table, watching the display with wide open eyes, which delights R. Courfeyrac laughs as Grantaire gracefully catches his bottle and starts pouring the liquid, but then notices Enjolras's face and nearly drops everything.

Cosette and Joly walk with many plates in their hands, while Jehan, whistling a cheerful tune, follows them with cups and glasses.

The pergola or garden house looks more like a marquee, with light violet fabric and orange lanterns: big and small, shaped like stars. There stands a round table with a creamy tablecloth and a vase with white roses. Jehan thinks that tulips would go better, but the household is rich, therefore everything must be expensive. He smiles as his ear catches the sound of Courfeyrac and Grantaire singing "Single Ladies". Moments later Gavroche joins them and they all start dancing, easily rivaling Beyonce's performance.

Combeferre wipes his forehead as he and Marius finally manage to do something useful with the brazier. He tugs off his t-shirt and sighs with relief as a breeze skims his bare skin. The thought of sunburn crosses his mind, but he quickly pushes it out of his mind. It's only the end of May after all.

Jehan is in the process of placing napkins on the table when he notices Joly's gaze. The poet watches him and realizes where the medical student is looking.

"What? If I come and say to him that he is going to get sunburnt, he will literally kill me." Joly says, putting bottles with mineral water near the table.

 

Jehan chuckles. "But he is going get sunburned. Look at his shoulders." He grabs an apple and bites into it. "I think Cosette must have sun block or something."

"I've got that too."

The poet smiles. "Of course you do. So go and give it to Combeferre."

Enjolras approaches them, hiding his smile as Joly sighs and walks to the house.

"He’s so shy. Even more so than me." Jehan sits on the chair, admiring the view around him.

The golden haired Enjolras reaches for a bottle and takes a sip. "What is Courfeyrac doing with the meat? I’m starving, to be honest."

"ENJOLRAS!" 

The leader jerks and turns quickly. 

"What is it, R?" he asks with troubled voice.

"Come here quickly!" Grantaire shouts from the other side of the garden, with his tangled locks and wide open eyes.

Jehan and Enjolras exchange glances and the latter rushes to the cynic. "What is wrong?" As he stops, Grantaire watches him for several seconds; his eyes remind Enjolras deep blue sea, the 

 

depths which the sun can't warm with its light. "Granta–"

Dark curls, thoughtful face, eyes that care, heart that loves, soul which is healing- the whole of Grantaire's nature just hugs Enjolras. Without any reason. Simply because he is in a good mood and he wants to share it.

Jehan's lips form a smile as he watches them. A marble statue cracks when the other heart flickers. The soul has found a light.

Courfeyrac appears near Jehan with a little chamomile in his hand. The poet smells the tiny flower and then leans forward. "Told you they would be fine," he murmurs into Courfeyrac's collarbone.

"I've had no doubts about that," Courf answers, caressing Jehan's soft hair.

Joly walks out of the house, thinking that next time he won’t go in that place alone. He's gotten himself lost twice, before he saw the front door. When he feels the daylight on his face again he notices Marius running somewhere with a strange expression. He really doesn't want to know why Marius does that. Gavroche runs after him, laughing maniacally.

The medical student sighs and walks to the shirtless Combeferre. He suddenly feels that he is blushing. "Ferry?"

Combeferre turn his head, holding several wooden sticks. "Mhmm?"

Joly carefully shows the sun block with an apologetic face, still blushing. "Your shoulders…They’re going to hurt."

Ferry remains silent for a second, but then chuckles. "You are beyond imagination, Joly." The cheeks of the other student have become scarlet. "Come here, I’ll need some help with this."

 

Joly steps forward and pours some cream into his palm. "Don't want you to do that yourself?" 

Combeferre looks at the eyes of Joly. 

"Okay," he adds quickly.

His rather small hand touches the other man's shoulder and carefully spreads the cream.

"Sorry for being harsh with you this morning, Joly," Combeferre says, looking away. "You are just caring. Thank you."

The paranoid medic feels himself glow. It is the exact feeling he had when Combeferre smiled at him at the railway station. "I know that I’m a bore. I just can't do anything about that."

Ferry smiles, knowing that he would be lonely without Joly. He is his best friend. "It's okay."

Joly finishes and wipes his hand, hiding his smile and still red cheeks. Combeferre watches his actions and then laughs. "You are such a kid, you know that?" He stands up from the chair and hugs Joly, and the hesitation on his face makes Ferry chuckle once again.

"Seriously people, you’re kidding me! You’re hugging and kissing every bloody three minutes!" Gavroche rolls his eyes while searching for something edible. "In Paris, Les Amis are so serious, so mature, blahblahblah…Revolution, freedom…"

Cosette has appeared near the teen with a sandwich in her hand, which she gives to Gavroche. "Don't blame them. It is spring after all." She runs her fingers through his blond hair; her gentle smile makes the kid feel awful for wanting to kiss the beautiful mademoiselle. Cosette notices the color of Gavroche's cheeks and hugs him tightly. "See? Hugging isn't that bad. It’s because a hug is a handshake from the heart."

"The meat is ready!" Marius announces proudly forty minutes later as all Friends of ABC cheer happily.

The atmosphere of a day spent with your friends just can't be described. It must be felt in the heart to understand it. Jehan would say that the friendship of Les Amis reminds him a hot chocolate muffin: amazingly good, and warm, with a sweet aftertaste on the lips. Grantaire would probably explain his feelings using watercolors, mixing them, creating the picture of their spirits and bonds.

When the evening gently wraps itself around Marius, Cosette, Courfeyrac, Jehan, Combeferre, Joly, Gavroche, Enjolras, and Grantaire; when the soft, dim lights of the little lanterns illuminate their hearts; when arms, wrapped around each other, warm them; then Les Amis believe that they can stay like that forever. There will be a thousand friends like them in the future, there were a thousand in the past, but in this moment nothing else matters.

"I'll pretend that I'm kissing  
the lips I am missing  
And hope that my dreams will come true  
And then while I'm away  
I'll write home ev'ry day  
And I'll send all my loving to you." 

The sounds of the guitar echo the melody of the soul: bitter and sweet at the same time. Enjolras watches Grantaire, who is playing it. His dark blue eyes are sad again. Or maybe tired; like when you are tired after a long day, full of emotions. His voice sounds so natural when he sings. 

Enjolras thinks that when Grantaire is singing, he is showing his heart: he revealing it, letting it calm down and rest.

Jehan stands up from his chair and glances at Courfeyrac, then slowly takes his hand. "Let's dance while the moon is shining."

Their figures strangely match the sound of Grantaire voice. The moonlight oddly, yet so well, complements the orange lights of the lanterns.

Enjolras's hands around Grantaire's waist fit perfectly.


End file.
